Search and Siege
by AdamineTerra
Summary: Since the Blight, things hadn't gone the way Cousland had planned them. Between Alistair's requests for her presence in Denerim, the dealings of Amaranthine, and the title of Warden Commander being placed on her shoulders, little time was left to follow up after a certain assassin, but after slavers hit port with an old friend's brother in tow, a new crisis and old secret arise.
1. Prologue

Prologue

 _Ferelden_

 _Korcari Wilds_

They were coming. She knew it not by the sounds of footsteps, not by the sounds of voices down the dank hall, but by the way the girls around her began to fidget. They paced in their cages making foolish utterances echo against the sounds of dripping stalactites.

They whispered about hope. They whispered about families. They whispered about mercy.

The young girl crouched in the corner merely scowled. Mercy. Like their captors had any interest in such things. They'd gone through all the trouble of kidnapping them from their very homes. Just why in the hells would those same men and women release them after all that effort?

It was a foolish notion, and one that she had given up on long, long ago. While five years wasn't all that daunting to the average person, five years trapped in an underground dungeon felt more like five decades.

The beatings. The fighting. The starving.

After five years of waiting for her captors to finally get her torment over with, Adamine Cousland had made herself a name in this place. She was a feared creature, a female beast more so than a woman, and all she had to do was snap a mage's neck. Barehanded.

Since then, death had become a kind of bartering tool for her. She had gained reverence, an infamy of sorts. No one dared to get too close, and no one dared to steal anything that was hers. That meant food, water, and the clothes of the dead that piled up each day.

She'd become queen of this underground hell, but even with all the benefits that gave her, she continued to plot her escape. Even now, she sat in a darkened corner of her cage. Dirty nails ran under each other, back and forth in a nervous shifting of appendages.

Tonight. Tonight was the night, the night of the red moon her captors had whispered about since the day she'd been taken here. At one point, it had been a mere year away, then a month, then a week, and finally, today.

Staring with an unblinking gaze towards the metal door where her captors came out of each day, Adamine waited. Oh, and she was good at waiting. Five years of sitting in a five foot by five foot metal barred cube had taught her patience. So she continued to stare as the girl she shared the cage with paced about.

"Starving… Just wanna go home… Tired. So… tired." The girl's mutterings rolled around in the air.

Adamine understood the sentiment, but she also understood just how unlikely going home was going to be. The only hope she had came in the form of a part of the cave ceiling where it had fallen to crush some of the girls beneath it. Perhaps, it was a terrible thing to enjoy the view when it came with the price of mortal lives, but Adamine didn't care anymore.

Just the sight of those glittering stars overhead made her heart ache, made her mind remember Castle Cousland and the family she'd been taken from so long ago. In the past, she'd been such an ungrateful daughter, one that would have never gotten into this situation had she not traded her evening wear for a stolen pair of men's trousers.

Had she known that Maleficarum had been watching her movements, plotting a kidnapping for a royal, virgin sacrifice, she might not have been roaming the village in men's clothes. One sneaky trip to the brothel had landed her entrapped within a cage spell and knocked out only to wake up here.

Stripped of her disguise and devoid of all the weaponry she'd been carrying.

Adamine felt a growl forming low in her throat as that memory collided with the sight of her Maleficarum keeper. The man had the accent and patchy facial hair of Tevinter. His followers? All blood mages escaped from the Circle or foundlings taken in from the local Chasind.

With the red moon having crept towards the apex of the heavens above them, Adamine assumed they were to be gathered and taken to the sacrificial chamber.

Funny thing she'd learned about blood magic? It always required more blood. Just how many times could one man bleed himself before he got the idea to take the lives of others?

Instead of gathering at the bars or harping on about wanting to go home, Adamine bided her time. Her dead, cold stare kept the girl she was with from flinging herself at the cage door in hopes of mewling on about how she was hungry or sad. That stare kept Adamine close to the exit, close to her only chance for escape.

Chains jangled in the small space of the dungeon, and Adamine watched the starlight reflect off the metal. Smooth bands. Likely grey iron. Adamine had tasted their metal several times before. Once a month or so when the mages came down to bathe the girls by dunking them headfirst into a bucket of water.

Adamine had never learned how to swim, and thanks to these mages, she had even less inclination to do so. Lucky for her, the mages weren't armed with buckets _and_ staves. Just the staves.

Her emerald eyes glistened in the dim lighting as one by one the choicest victims of the night were selected for the Witching Hour's ritual. Like Adamine, many of the girls were second and third daughters of noble blood. The ones that happened to be elven were likely those same girls' handmaidens.

Adamine was lucky hers wasn't with her. Katja was a fierce elven warrior, a Dalish taken and put into the slave trade. When Adamine snuck out of the castle, it was with Katja's guidance, and when one of them ran off, the other followed suit. Every minute spent here was a minute Adamine praised the Maker that Katja had played decoy to let Adamine sneak out of the castle alone.

Their relationship was an interesting one given that slavery wasn't a legal form of trade in Ferelden. An escape act from the castle to the village had landed Adamine in the lowest reaches of her city's lands where the brothels were abundant and the crooks were in rich supply. An accidental stroll into an alleyway had revealed the pens where the slaves were being kept. Kidnapping an already kidnapped elf added a little excitement to the Black Market trade, and when Adamine had hauled a bewildered Dalish to Castle Cousland, Katja had sworn to serve her.

That sense of servitude had allowed Adamine to sneak out of the castle all the time. Dressed as a common man or soldier, Katja and Adamine would sneak through the village and train in the woodlands. Archery and swordfighting were the preferred trainings but the two of them got into all kinds of trouble together. They were training to get stronger, strong enough to find the Lavellan clan that Katja had been stolen from.

Had Katja been taken when Adamine was… Well, she wasn't sure what she would do. Go crazy likely. Adamine could always withstand a beating—it was why her father had finally agreed to train her as a warrior—but she could never stand for the suffering of others.

A scream from an elven girl only made Adamine grit her teeth, and she looked forward. The rattling chains had come closer, and Adamine watched as a noble girl was torn from her handmaiden. They clung frantically to each other. Each one begging not to go, even going so far as to barter lives. Their self-sacrificing ways earned them each a spell to paralyze and then to silence them. Cuffs were put on afterwards.

It felt like half the night had gone by before the Maleficarum's apprentices finally reached her cell. It was finally Adamine's time to stand, and as soon as she did, she let a wild rage creep outwards from her heart. It slithered into her arms. It crept into her calves. All of her muscles began to tighten in eagerness, and as soon as the key was turned, Adamine's fist slammed into a mage's nose.

It was nothing to celebrate. Adamine had tried escaping a thousand times before. She always failed, even after getting so far as the chamber door at one point. This time would be different, though. This time, Adamine had learned their spells, and knew the time it took to release them.

So when one began to conjure flames within his grasp, Adamine threw her knee into his gut. When his head came down on a wheeze, her twined together fists crushed down against his skull. The mage hit the dungeon floor, but he wasn't completely out. Just out of her way.

Chaos erupted when Adamine grabbed another mage's staff to pull her in close. Teeth clenched and Adamine's head snapped forward. There was an audible crunch when cartilage shattered against the force of her blow. Using the staff as more leverage, Adamine threw the female mage into another one running down the stairs.

It was enough to let a shackled girl wrap her manacled grip around the neck of the mage. Strangling ensued. Gagging. Gasping. Growling. It all came to an end when the chained girl pulled with a force she didn't know she possessed. She discovered how to steal another's life.

Not interested in the other female's victory, Adamine continued to brawl her way up the stairs. With so many mages having opened up cages only to be distracted by Adamine, girls were testing out their fight or flight responses.

Some cowered. Others warred. But it was the ones who felt like they had nothing left to lose that really got something done.

Adamine was one of those girls, and using the distraction of mayhem, she finally made her way to the metal door—for the second time in her life.

Her heart pumped like horses' hooves running in her chest, and she narrowly avoided a lightning bolt to the face when blood mages from deeper into the temple-like structure rushed her. The battle roar she'd long since kept leashed pulled from between her lips, and Adamine laid fist to flesh as she fought her way out of the dungeon.

It was like the battle was never ending as more mages swarmed her. One by one they poured out of the stonework. They came around bends as she searched for an exit. They appeared clean out of nowhere. At one point her body was even held captive a few feet above the floor as a crushing, magical force overwhelmed her.

Gasping breaths couldn't get enough air. Adamine knew there was an exit to be found. She just couldn't find it.

Plucking a knife off a table in what appeared to be a dining room, Adamine threw it end over end, relishing the wet _thunk_ of the blade sinking into a mage's eye. It wasn't enough.

Flames began to lick at her skin, threatening to make it boil and blister. Hair grew singed, and eyebrows became a thing of the past as she ran, stripping off the flaming clothes.

Snarling her frustration at a wooden door that led only to a storage closet, Adamine plucked a chair up to throw it between herself and more fireballs. She was surrounded. No way to escape. Her heart pumped faster and faster in her chest. It was a never ending rush of adrenaline that kept her legs moving through this multi-leveled structure, and once she thought she had reached a door elegant enough to be titled the main entrance, Adamine felt ice freezing her feet to the floor.

She tugged. She writhed. She slammed her fists against the metal door that was so close she could lean over and kiss it, but her feet could no longer guide her.

Against the door, a mage's shadow grew. Malformed and misshapen, it moved as if as flimsy as a sack filled with cats.

She didn't want to turn around, didn't want to see the abomination that had become of a formerly human looking mage. Oddly enough, her skull began to move.

It moved as if she were already possessed, and at this point, she might as well have been. Possessed by her own fear.

Inch by inch the shadow of the abomination came closer, and as soon as she made eye contact with the horribly contorted creature—


	2. One

One

 _Rialto Bay_

 _City of Antiva_

"Warden Commander!" something wheezed out from a place that had to be just in front of her. She couldn't tell though. Everything was black in the dimness around her, and rushing breaths made her lungs swell in her chest. She couldn't see. Why couldn't she...

Adamine opened her eyes, and that made all the difference in the world. Her eyes opened wide then narrowed as she took in the scene before her. Her mind was hazy, clouded over as if fog had rolled in through her ears, and when she felt something tighten and move against her clenched fist, reality revealed a throat in her grasp.

"Shit!" Adamine hissed out, jerking her hand back as if she'd touched a sword hot from the forge. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Attack the idiot who'd been shaking you for the past ten minutes?" Katja Lavellan snickered, rubbing her throat where four red lines still marked her skin. "Don't worry about it. I knew you were having a nightmare. Shouldn't have touched you at all. Last time you nearly broke my nose."

Though her words were light, they were tinged with strain as her windpipe came to the realization that it was no longer being crushed. Adamine should have felt some semblance of regret, instead all she felt was shame.

Nightmares had plagued her ever since she'd left Denerim, and while being a Grey Warden often came with images of Hurlocks and Broodmothers, these nightmares weren't a side effect of her occupation. They were a side effect of her childhood.

With a slow gulp, Adamine looked up at Katja's steady, hazel gaze. The Dalish had been on the receiving end of a variety of Adamine's night terrors. They had been the worst when Adamine had first been reunited with her noble family, but Katja's steadfast presence had always chased them away.

Too many times had Adamine jerked awake in bed to be met with Katja's patient expression. It was a wonder she'd survived the Blight without her handmaiden at all. Between Adamine's kidnapping, Rendon Howe's betrayal, and the Blight, post traumatic stress had been redefined to constant traumatic stress. Recovering from those events was taking its time, and this trip to Antiva would likely prove anything but a romantic vacation.

They were here to fight, and it was a damned good thing Adamine got off on warring. Sometimes, she forgot what life was like before it'd become a constant swinging of her sword arm, and in the years since she'd been named Warden Commander, the only relaxation she received was through educating the new King Alistair about post Blight recuperation.

Adamine let out a sigh before sliding her legs down the side of the cot in her and Katja's shared room. She'd never get anything done if she laid about reminiscing on the past. It was time to get up, and time to start her search. "Have we hit port yet?"

"Sure have, my lady. That was the reason I came to wake you. The captain is getting her goods broken down and unloaded, so you have time to get dressed before she throws us onto the streets." Katja paused and turned to where Adamine was standing in front of a chest where her clothes and armor had been placed the night before. "I suggest we head to the inner city. There's enough whores and thugs around the outskirts that the best place we could find to sleep would be a brothel."

With her hands sliding her leather breeches up her thighs, Adamine raised a brow at Katja. "Scared of a few thugs and whores? I'll have you know that's what most of my friends consist of."

"Hardy. Har. Har." Katja bent over to pick Adamine's breastplate out of a storage chest and throw it at her. The Grey Warden caught it before it could fly off and _thwack_ her in the back of the head. "I'm just suggesting a better place since Antiva is crawling with people who want you dead. Not all of Howe's allies are happy you keep surviving their assassination attempts, and the less shady people you're near, the more I can worry about _actual_ threats."

After securing her sword belt, Adamine pressed a hand to her chest. "Why, Kat, you sound as if you might actually _like_ having me around. Keep saying things like that, and I'll believe you want to sleep with me."

"Adamine, I love you, but the last thing I want to put up with is your jealous lover. He'd either stab me at the earliest opportunity or suggest a threesome."

Adamine's lips curled. "You've either met him before, or you have been listening to me talk about him." She secured her breastplate and moved to gather her sword but not before catching her reflection in the mirror. It had changed in recent years, becoming littered with a variety of scars, but what gave her the most pause was her armor.

It was odd not to be wearing the blue of the Grey Wardens. In Ferelden the blue and grey armor had been on her more than anything else, and when she wasn't in it, she had to sport a dress to some event Alistair needed to be present for. Adamine's awkward best friend always wanted her around for noble advice when he was being flaunted to the public.

Shaking her head at the odd ways things had turned out since the Blight, Adamine looked back at Katja. The elf was testing the sharpness of Adamine's sword before she handed it over. "You didn't bring the family blade," Katja commented.

"Nope. Gave it back to Fergus along with the Cousland shield. After I used the sword to take Howe's head, there was no real reason to keep holding onto it." After she sheathed her blade, Adamine added, "I'm just a Warden now."

A small smile inched up Katja's typically serious face. "You know, you say some real wise stuff for a tomboy that used to rip up her evening gowns to make escape ropes out the castle windows."

With a grin, Adamine replied, "Good to know I don't come off as a complete idiot. So if not with the whores, where do you suggest us sleeping?"

Katja offered up an aloof shrug. "The ship captain claims that there's an inn where the politicians and merchant princes stay. For us to find the information we want, I suggest we go there. Besides, why not sleep in a den of corruption when you're on the hunt for skeevy assassins?"

"Oh, so you finally relocated your sense of adventure?"

"Na. That's still floating in the Amaranthine Ocean with the remains of the filth the ship cook claimed as soup." Katja's ears gave a slight twitch when booted feet marched over her head. Judging by the expression on her face, Adamine assumed Katja was ready to get going.

Antiva may have been a place just bustling with corruption, but Crows weren't the only things on the girls' to-do list. The Lavellan clan had travelled north after the events of the Blight, making the Free Marches their home. Katja had been steadily tracking the movements of her clan, and when reports on Lavellan Dalish being taken by slavers in Kirkwall met her ears, another report followed on her brother being sent with a small group of hunters to retrieve their people.

The slave ship was reported to have hit port in Antiva, staying long enough to fill up on the rest of their quota for a delivery to Tevinter. Had Adamine not known a certain pirate queen and ran out on another one of former Arl Eamon's counseling sessions with the new king and queen of Ferelden, they would have never been able to get to Antiva in time.

Luckily, Adamine and Isabela had a history. One night in a Denerim brothel had a whole new meaning to it when Bela was around.

After hauling her satchel onto her shoulder, Adamine moved past where Katja was holding their room door open for her. A stroll through the ship's hold and then a climb onto the main deck eventually had Adamine and Katja sucking in the coastal breeze. It was just as Zevran had once described it: rotting fish with a hint of dew misted flowers.

He'd painted quite the picture for her before running off to Antiva, and though their six years of separation had some of the words lost to the past, Adamine remembered the gist of his descriptions. Between the Golden Plaza and the Boulevard of the Seas, Antiva was renowned for its romantic beauty.

Glancing around the dock where she could see Isabela's men transporting cargo and a few fishermen shucking their catches for the day, Adamine hoped the interior would at least smell better than this dock did.

Movement caught her attention, and Adamine turned to where Isabela was stepping from her quarters. The seductive sway that Isabela strolled with was comparable to a sleek jungle cat stalking its prey, and when amber eyes met Adamine, they didn't lose their laid back focus.

Isabela was the kind of rogue who appeared relaxed at every turn, but try to get the jump on her and you would be the one tasting steel. It was a trait that Adamine admired in her companions.

"Was wondering if you decided to sign on as a part of the crew given how long you stayed in the hold," Isabela commented, letting a smile creep up one side of her face.

"As fun as that sounds, I don't think the pirate's life's for me. Not enough ogres or darkspawn out on the open ocean." Adamine pointed her thumb at Katja. The Dalish may have been shorter than her lady, but Katja's shadow loomed just as well as any ten foot tall troll could. "Might want to ask Kat though. She loves sailing."

"Did I ever mention how much I _hated_ you?" Katja intoned, drawing attention to the greenish cast to her skin. Seasickness already coming to the fore.

"Ha. Another broody elf. Varric would have a heyday with this story: The Hero of Ferelden travels across the ocean with the Amaranthine pirate queen and a brooding Dalish, all in the hopes of saving her assassin lover before he gets himself killed."

"Is that the summary or the next thing the bards will be singing about me?"

"Likely the plot of Varric's latest book after he gets my next letter if the bards don't hear about it beforehand." Isabela cocked a hip out and put a hand on it. "So do you have a plan for locating him, or are you flying by the seat of your pants again?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of walking into all the brothels and asking if anyone's seen a silver tongued elf with blonde braids and a knack for seducing his way out of death."

"Is this a game? Describe everyone we know in two sentences or less?"

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure I'm winning." Adamine watched one of Isabela's crew walk by her with something metallic jangling within a wooden crate. Their journey to Antiva hadn't been without a few distractions. Isabela was a freedom fighter of sorts, taking out slave ships when they floated her way. Had they been in time to get the one with the Lavellan Dalish on it, Adamine might have made it to Antiva with two more hands to help her locate Zevran. Sadly, that hadn't been the case, and she couldn't enlist Isabela for help.

The pirate queen would only be at port for a few days, if even that, before heading back out. They were in to get rid of what they could then get out before anyone got a whiff of scallywag.

Adamine doubted she'd see Zevran until at least a week or two in the city. The assassin was good at covering his tracks. The only reason Adamine knew he was in Antiva was because of a letter she'd gotten while playing Warden Commander in Rendon Howe's old lands. Isabela would be long gone by the time Adamine found the man.

"Well, I hope you find him mostly alive, Warden. I need to get a few things settled on the ship before the crew decides to split between the bar wenches and brothel whores, so don't get yourself killed out there." Isabela stretched a hand out, and Adamine took it without a second thought. She owed Isabela, and while she wasn't sure how to repay the pirate yet, she knew Isabela would hold it over her head until she did. This handshake might as well have been her signing over her soul on a demon's wagon service.

"Blow something up for me next time you're on the water," Adamine called out before turning on her heel.

Up ahead of her loomed the rest of the docks. Creaking ships and repetitive boot stomping filled the air around her, and Adamine soon added her personal march to the noise. As ever present as a shadow, Katja stayed at her side.

The two of them twisted between conversing deck hands and pickpocketing children who hid in the jungle of traveller's walking legs. On either side of them stood wood and stone buildings designed with sloping roofs meant to lay down the rain that dwelled in pale grey clouds overhead. Eventually, the wooden dock gave way to stone paved streets, and the aroma of flower scented fish turned to fish scented flowers.

Antiva City was a bustling place as merchants hawked their wares and shadows moved in the form of thieves and con artists. It was quite different from Ferelden. As a matter of fact, the furthest Adamine had ever been from her homeland was the border of Orlais, and that was because of some more Alistair-needing-help-with-nobles mess she'd somehow gotten herself into.

After slaying the Archdemon, Adamine had tried to avoid politics. She'd understood them with an aplomb that her older brother never grasped, but she hated dealing with nobility. Adamine had preferred the barracks to the gardens and fighting with men rather than courting them. Even if Howe had never betrayed the Couslands, Thomas hadn't stood a chance at having her as a wife.

Unfortunately for her, when the Crows had eventually caught up with Zevran, the assassin had decided to part ways with her, and without her travel partner at her side, Adamine had gone back to Denerim where Alistair was more than happy to enlist her as a shoulder to cry on every time Eamon showed up to advise him.

The dread of politics had gotten so bad that Adamine was tempted to hunt out an Old God herself. Katja be praised for having a peril that needed to be tended to, and after making sure her newest responsibility was being looked after in Castle Cousland by her older brother's servants, Adamine set off with the Dalish.

One by one turquoise colored tiles passed under Adamine's feet, and she turned towards Katja. The elf was never comfortable in cities. Though she didn't appear that way, Katja was showing carefully hidden signs of nervousness. The close proximity of the city dwellers had her fists clenching, and every time they went by a thick grouping of buildings, Katja checked down each and every alleyway. Always looking for an escape in case things got too heated.

She could have been called paranoid, but Adamine wasn't much better. Already, she'd watched one man get mugged in a shadowed alleyway and five others be pickpocketed by children no taller than the stone vases sitting at intervals down building facades. As for themselves, between Katja's twin daggers and Adamine's sword and shield, people regarded them with a hint of weariness.

The last thing a pickpocket really wanted was to die over a couple of sovereigns. Or in Antiva, andris. Speaking of…

"Did you swap out our currency?" Adamine wondered.

Katja shook her head. "I swear, I don't know how you survived the Blight without me. Yes, I swapped our currency. Isabela had a variety of them on her ship, and we traded while you were getting drunk with her crew."

"Wha— Me? Getting drunk on a pirate ship? You must have the wrong girl. I would never—"

"You stayed up until the sun rose. I found you sleeping on top of a table with your arms wrapped around one of the deckhand's biceps." Adamine opened her mouth to defend herself, but Katja didn't let her speak. "When I tried to wake you up enough to get you back to the hold, you slurred something about the Champion of Kirkwall owing you ten sovereigns and a lap dance."

"Bastard still hasn't paid me back either. I swear, the next time I find Hollis Hawke, I'm shoving my fist so far down his throat that I touch stomach acid."

Katja rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Wow, Mina. With that kind of language, it's no wonder it took an assassin to finally sleep with you. You're a real lady."

Adamine batted her eyelashes at the rogue. "What can I say? I'm charming as all hell."

"Yeah? Well, maybe, you can put some of that charm to use. We're at the inn." Katja used a hand on Adamine's shoulder to steer her towards a white stone building. A large archway marked the entrance, and seating had been placed for patrons of the inn. To shield those patrons from the Antivan sun was a gallery made out of semicircular arches that held up a stone shingle roof. It looked like the kind of place where money would visit the city. Ever attentive Katja knew that, too.

If they were really lucky, the Tevinter mage that was collecting slaves would be in here. Maybe, slaying a mage from Tevinter would get rid of Adamine's nightmares. Maker knew she was ready to have them banished forever.

Moving between two decorative wooden doors, Adamine and Katja made their way to the tile floor interior. Plain tiles surrounded what could have only been a stylized motif of the Antivan Crows' crest. Anyone would have to study the symbol to know what it was, but Zevran spoke enough of his past that Adamine understood the stone work with a glance.

She knew the Crows were almost a ruling power in Antiva, but she hadn't expected such blatant advertisement. No wonder Isabela had suggested this place for their bird hunt's base of operations.

Stepping to the counter where a variety of decoratively designed keys hung behind their keeper, Adamine parted her lips to speak, but she hadn't needed to. One look at Adamine's pale, freckled face and vibrant red hair had the man heading right their way.

In a land where the skin was dark and the hair was darker, Adamine might as well have a big sign over her head saying, "Not from around here."

Isabela was right. The bards would be telling stories about Adamine's attempt at a search-and-assist rescue mission.

"This came for you," the man stated, his Antivan accent rolling through Adamine's ears for the first time in six years. She'd forgotten the way Antivans pronounced words with their coastal accent tinting everything to make it sound just the least bit more exotic. She was even more surprised the man knew she was Ferelden, speaking in the common tongue instead of addressing her in Antivan.

Then again, she was the palest girl in the room. Even Dalish Katja fit in with these people better than Adamine did. They were like a study in opposites. Katja had honey brown skin and locks so dark brown they turned black in certain places. Then came her hazel eyes, wise beyond her years. If the elf never parted her lips to speak, she'd fit in around Antiva.

Moving her attention back to the innkeeper, Adamine laid her hand against the smooth parchment that was laid seal down on the countertop. "Don't get a lot of Ferelden redheads around here, I assume?" she charmed, flaunting a mischievous grin that tended to get her into just as much trouble as it got her out of.

"No' so much, more along the lines of Tevinters or the Free Marchers. The messenger who delivered the letter also said to include your stay. You must have made some man very happy to have reserved our best room." The glint in the keeper's eyes said he was imagining the various ways Adamine must have made this faceless man very happy, but Adamine didn't let it deter her.

Instead, she kept her grin on her face and commented, "Hey, what can I say? Warriors do it harder." Tossing her hand up, Adamine tacked on, "Thanks for the letter. I'll be seeing you around."

When she had her back turned from the innkeeper, a small seating area away from where patrons were gathering to eat their morning meal caught her eye. Katja moved like a bodyguard when she stepped close enough to peer over Adamine's shoulder at the seal on the front of the letter. It bore the Crow's crest. Go figure.

Adamine rolled her big eyes. They had only been here for a few hours and already Adamine had the Crows thrown in her face two times. At this rate, someone would dump a bucket of black feathers on her head before she got to her room.

"It's probably a trap," Katja mused, finally letting her shadow settle somewhere other than Adamine's backside. As Adamine took a seat atop a leather upholstered chair, Katja stood at the position of bodyguard. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts, and her eyes were cast down to study Adamine's letter intently.

Perhaps, Katja's paranoia was appropriate in this situation. Adamine had a tendency to run towards danger instead of away from it. Someone mentioned the words trap or dragon, and Adamine's ears perked up.

Running a finger down the inside fold of the parchment, Adamine said, "I hope so. We haven't done anything since helping Bela with the one ship we caught on the way here."

"A ship that took out three of her crew and blew a hole into our sole way to escape Ferelden." Katja's voice was deadpan, always such a buzz killer. Or so she liked to pretend. The elf was little better than her master. Both of them got into trouble, and it wasn't always Adamine's fault.

"We did happen to get here in one piece though."

"And we need to get back to Ferelden in one piece as well. Remember, that you're a—"

Before Katja could say the one word that always chilled Adamine to the bone, she held up her hand. "Don't remind me. Not right now." The responsibility that she left back at Castle Cousland was expecting Adamine to return with more glorious stories of how the Hero of Ferelden had conquered Antiva and singlehandedly survived the Crow's headquarters.

Somehow, Adamine doubted it would be as glamorous as her responsibility wanted it to sound, but if she did happen to make it back to Highever, Adamine could make up a few ways to glam up her newest adventure.

With a sigh, Adamine withdrew the paper that had been sealed inside of the letter. She was surprised to find that the weight of the letter had been mainly in the key sealed within. The letter itself was nothing but a narrow slip of parchment, and a cryptic message had been written in a masculine yet fluidly moving script.

Second Floor. Last hall on the left.

"Are the Crows known for playing games?" Katja asked. Her crossed arms had fallen away, and one thumb was rubbing across the pommel of her dagger, a Dalish weapon she was rarely far from.

Brows furrowed. In the various attacks that had come from the Crows, Adamine had been met at the choke points of bridges and canyons. She'd also been led astray by supposed merchants claiming to have their caravans attacked. Astoundingly, Adamine had escaped them all.

Rumor held that the Hero of Ferelden was just hard as hell to kill. Reality explained that Adamine was good at running around trees and pulling back their branches to smack her oncoming opponents. Various occasions had Adamine escape assassination by tripping down a sloping hill and watching her predator fall to their doom as she gripped tight to a ledge.

Happenstance played in her favor. Most of the time.

Interestingly enough, the Crows had only tried to contact her directly once, and that was in the hopes of having her do a couple of jobs for them. With a polite rejection of their proposal, the Antivan and the Hero of Ferelden had parted ways. Any other confrontations with them had been violent attempts to take her life.

"Games for them are typically something along the lines of, 'Oh! The target is sleeping alone in her tent, better go try to stab her.'" Adamine pursed her lips as she studied the script.

It didn't look like Zevran's handwriting, but between all the people and creatures trying to kill them, it was hard to find the time to send letters to each other. There also was little guarantee that the letters got to their intended target. Studying Zevran's handwriting wasn't anything she'd done much of lately.

"Maybe, they realized you're too accident prone to kill." Katja took a step back when Adamine rose from her seat. "I always imagined your death more along the lines of choking on an ice cube or something."

Adamine flaunted a look of disgust. "An ice cube. Really? Something that would melt in my throat would take me out instead of an assassin?"

Katja perused her filed nails. "Well, it was either that, or you trip and fall into a boiling pit of lava in the Deep Roads. I mean, you did sneeze onto Andraste's Ashes right before they were given to Arl Eamon."

"And I swear that the Blighted mess got sucked up into my nose!" Adamine took a step towards the elegantly curving stairway lined with nature inspired railing. "There's no stranger feeling than inhaling the ashes of the Maker's greatest martyr."

"And still hearing the Darkspawn afterwards?" Katja snickered. Her hands trailed up the iron railing, but Adamine could feel her eyes boring twin holes in Adamine's back. Katja was the keeper of a massive secret. One that Adamine had no interest in discussing right now, and one that kept her away from any other Wardens who might find out about it.

She felt the muscles in her throat tighten and roll as she swallowed. The secret put just as much fear in her heart as the nightmares she had each night. Making it out of Antiva alive was paramount.


	3. Two

Two

The second floor of the inn was just as elegant as the first, and Adamine let her eyes trail over the iron laced interior as one carefully decorated wooden door after another passed her by. Twin curving staircases had led to an open second floor hall where she could peer down at the fireplace and seating area where some people were relaxing, chatting with friends, and playing chess in the parlor.

It was quite the typical scene, and had there not been a surprise letter awaiting Adamine when she arrived, she might have been persuaded to let her guard down. Might.

Just as the letter instructed, Adamine went so far down the hall that it eventually ran out of corridor space. A semicircular archway gave off a view of a flower enveloped balcony, and the slenderly carved table before the arch held only a single bottle of Antivan wine.

"Is it just me," Katja mused as she plucked the wine from the end table. "Or does it suddenly smell like Antivan leather in here?"

"I'm starting to think the same thing," With a grin playing on the corners of her lips, Adamine pulled their key out of the letter, but before she could put it into the keyhole, Katja's hand stopped her.

"Possible seduction or not. It could still be a trap." Katja had the key out of Adamine's hand before the Warden even realized it. The Dalish placed herself between Adamine and the door then began undoing its lock.

The slow release of metal drew out the moment, but Katja's ears were listening for different mechanisms. Possible dwarven traps, the snap of twine. Anything that signaled there was more than empty space to greet them when the door opened up. After a cautious glare that finally got Adamine to take a few steps back, Katja opened the entryway.

Sure enough, an expanse of emptiness met her observant glower, but that didn't mean it was safe. Stiffened shoulders relaxed even though Katja barked, "Behind me. Not in front of me."

A drawn out groan pulled from Adamine's lips. "Ugh. You have to be kidding me. I'm a warrior. You're the rogue. I'm _supposed_ to lead."

"Not straight into traps you aren't." Katja grabbed Adamine by the long braid of her hair and jerked her head back hard enough that joints popped. The threat was playful but serious, and Adamine hadn't grown to twenty-seven years old by disobeying her Dalish friend.

With a grumble, she allowed the elf to lead her into the room. Katja's long, slender hands slid across plaster walls so well made they almost replicated a marble surface. She was feeling for any hidden panels or strings so thin they appeared more like spider's webs.

In front of her, the room was stunning. A foyer with a metal chandelier greeted them upon entry, and behind a wood lined archway was a large stone fireplace. Had the season been winter, it would have made quite the seductive setting for the large canopied bed peering at them through a sitting room.

Whoever had purchased this room had coin and no small amount of it. As expensive as Zevran's tastes were, he was wise when it came to his own money. Practicality kept you alive, and opulence just made you look good. If Zevran had found as many contracts as he had Crows, he likely had a bit of both.

Katja's head peeked out from the inside of a large bathing chamber. "Well. No traps, but this tub is big enough for a sultan and five of his wenches. It's even magically powered. Someone had it enchanted." After a low whistle, Katja stepped out of the bathroom and perched herself against the wall. "So who did you sleep with to get such nice digs?"

Running her hand across a granite topped end table, Adamine mentioned, "I'm starting to wonder that myself. This has to be the owner's room."

"Are you sure you haven't slept with a merchant prince or the prince of Antiva in the past month or so?" Katja had wandered out of the bathing chamber. Her voice came from a sitting room just off the foyer.

Adamine followed. "Sad to say but no. I haven't gotten laid in six years."

Katja stopped and gave Adamine a look of disbelief. "Six years? No shit?"

"No shit," Adamine agreed. She looked towards a canapé and found her eyes narrowing in tune with Katja. Papers and maps had been laid out in front of the sofa. A short stroll towards them revealed trade routes by land and sea. Each one bore the same mark, a mark of one of Antiva's merchant princes.

Those princes were the true heads of household in Antiva. Their small militias protected themselves while governing what they owned. Whoever had been or was staying here worked with one of them, but there was a question that followed the observation.

What would a merchant prince want with the Hero of Ferelden?

When a knock sounded at the door, Katja and Adamine both had hands moving to their weapons, and when no one answered the sound, an elven woman appeared with linens in her hands. Katja and Adamine said nothing as the woman laid the cloths into a stained glass fronted storage chest, picked a few used towels out of a bin, and then moved back to the exit without even looking towards the sitting room.

"Well, that answers one question," Katja commented once the servant had left and was a few steps down the corridor. Her eyes continued to peruse the documents laid out on the table, touching this one and folding over another to see what laid beneath. "Whoever has been using this room is going to be coming back."

"But why not be here when we show up?"

Katja shrugged. "Maybe, he had business somewhere else and had to pop out at the last minute."

"Or maybe this place is haunted by bath taking ghosts!"

Adamine received a smack upside the head. "You are an idiot, and I love you. But no."

"But the Fade could—"

"No."

"But—"

"I said no." Katja rolled her eyes before flipping through a few pages of what appeared to be a business ledger. "So what do you think?"

Adamine pulled her head out of a room that had all the fixings of a small kitchen: wood burning stove and sealed away pantry space. Seeing the room brought back fond memories of sneaking into the kitchen to have Katja gather them treats as they hid in the cupboards. "About what?"

"Should we stay here, or find a place that doesn't scream, 'You might die if you don't leave soon'?" While Adamine was perusing the pantry for any sweets that might be served for later in the day, Katja was continuing her search of the entire space.

After only finding the components to make a couple of baked goods, Adamine pulled her nose out of the storage space. On the other side of the kitchen was a hallway. Adamine saw Katja open up a door before slipping into what must have been a personal servant's quarters.

Damn. The owner of this place had it all. Didn't he?

Running her fingernails against her sore neck, Adamine took a look at luxuries she hadn't seen since escaping Denerim. A big bed could replace a rope suspended cot. A large tub could take the place of dumping cold water over her head. Yeah, sacrificing safety for a little luxury sounded right up her alley.

"It has everything we could ever ask for." Adamine went into the servant's quarters where Katja had already sat down her travel pack. Well, someone obviously wanted to stay here despite the threat to their lives.

The servant's quarters weren't anything to scoff at, either. Though they weren't half as lavish as the rest of the suite, the carved bed and gold trimmed mirror were pieces of distinction. Not things often found for the lower of the lower class.

Katja went through her satchel before withdrawing a letter the keeper of the Lavellan clan had sent her for this journey. "Sounds fine by me." Her eyes cut sharply to Adamine. "But I stay in the servant's room, and I stand guard when you sleep."

Hands came up in mock surrender. "Alright. Alright. Have it your way. Sheesh. Are all elves this pushy after a vow of eternal loyalty?"

Without looking up from her letter, Katja smarted, "Stop saving elven lives and reuniting them with their old keepers. Then, we'll talk about pushy." She pulled a map of the city out of her satchel then spread it out on the bed. "I suggest we lay out a few traps in case this is a set up. Nothing to kill, but something to hold anyone who might come through the door without our permission first. Wealthy Antivan or no, I think he will excuse a little caution on our side of things. Pride can be restored. Lives can't."

Adamine couldn't stop her eyes from rolling. Her Katja, always the cautious one. Even when she slept in the possible enemy's rooms. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am." Adamine tossed her bag onto the floor, earning herself a scowl from Katja at the careless way her things sat in the middle of the walkway. Neat freak. "That's the information the keeper collected when one of the scouts from your brother's group came back?" Adamine asked, ignoring Katja's frowny face.

"It is. If you're as confident as you pretend to be about Zevran not dying by Crow talons or whatever in the next day or so, I want to make Sven a priority." She pointed to a blocked out building in the elven alienage. It wasn't far from the dock they'd come in at. "After some of the hunters were captured, the scout mentioned that the ship's captain claimed there was a holding pen here. Sven will likely be kept on the ship since he was foolish enough to get himself caught, but since the ship is likely not docked in the open, I suggest we scout the area ourselves and see if we can't find Tevinter mage activity on our own."

Even though the combined words of Tevinter and mage sent a childish chill down her spine, Adamine nodded her head in understanding. Zevran was a crafty man. He didn't need her to come to his rescue like some knight in shining armor, and as much as he would probably enjoy being whisked away from murder in the arms of his beloved heroine, Adamine had priorities that needed to be taken care of first. Besides, the idea of seeing him again… was uncustomarily nerve wracking.

Instead of dwelling on the exact reasons for that, Adamine listened to Katja lay out the plans for their rescue mission. If some of her trademark fool's luck was still with her, Adamine might have a little more time to prepare before she met face to face with her assassin again.

* * *

There were a thousand places Zevran would have rather been than a back alley in the Antivan alienage, and as he stalked his prey with a casual gait through the darkness, one place in particular came to mind: the inn where his current employer often stayed.

Though the large, stone tub and massive bed were things he'd enjoyed while working for Niccolo, there was something new in the room that he would love settle himself between, and that would be a pair of alabaster thighs.

Adamine. She had been a bewildering sight, and when he'd caught a glimpse of her at the docks, he thought he'd been hallucinating. But no. She was here in the flesh, and with some Dalish assassin lurking behind her like a creeping shade.

He'd been tempted to approach her, to make certain that the elf lurking at Adamine's side was friend rather than foe, but he knew his woman too well. Had the elf been a threat, Adamine would easily dispatch her with only the slightest movement of her arm. In a mere twitch, another head would roll to his woman's feet.

She'd never needed his protection, or the protection of anyone else for that matter. Her bold strength and uncensored tongue were things he enjoyed when at her side. Perhaps, now that she was here, he could enjoy them once more.

A quick exchange of coin with one of the nearby brothel bastards had gotten a hasty note sent to the inn, and with any luck Zevran could get into another love match with Adamine by assassination's end.

Ah, she was his spitfire.

The red hair was quite the appropriate color given her fiery nature and untamable spirit. Every time they made love, Adamine made him earn it. Whether that be by conquering her physically or seducing her mentally, Zevran was never simply given her body. And there was no other way he would have it.

Just seeing her stepping off the docks had sent their first conversation running through his mind. He'd held her by the thick, scarlet braid of her hair and jerked her neck back with the length, but instead of wincing or pleading for her life, Adamine had stared him straight in the eye. With curled lips, she'd purred, "Go ahead. Pull my hair. Slap me around. I love foreplay."

He'd been tempted to laugh, but the joke was on him. Adamine had slipped a leg around the back of his. With a thrust of her knee, she had him lunging too far forward and unintentionally let her get a grip on the back of his neck. Her little claws had sunk so sweetly into his skin before flipping him onto his back in the dirt.

Zevran had gone through plenty of battle ready targets in his life, but he'd never had one like Adamine. She'd flipped him on his ass more times than he could count, and with each time he hit the dirt, he garnered a little bit more respect for her. She was a tough kill.

Zevran stepped through the alley, frowning at himself when he realized thinking about Adamine had caused his pace to quicken. As tempted as he was to let the target go for the night and be at his Warden's side, he wasn't fool enough to actually do that. Besides, he'd never hear the end of it if Adamine learned he'd abandoned a kill for her.

Their love was honest, raw, and primitive. Not filled with all the lovey-dovey sentiment that never lasted. That woman had a way of striping bare his mind, body, and soul. She saw the darkest parts of him, and instead of scrutinizing or digging for details, she let him show himself one twisted bit after the next.

And by oblivion, she hadn't run off screaming yet, so he figured they had a good thing going.

Feeling his face trying to turn into some ridiculously ignorant looking grin, Zevran laid his sights on the target ahead. The man was a Crow, and while killing his former brothers and sisters in arms was a pleasure all its own, this Crow was a paid kill.

An argument between some of the merchants under Niccolo's protection had roused up enough fire between guilds that the Crows had been contacted. The exact details hadn't been given to Zevran, but he could assume the rest. Since Niccolo had been made a Crow target several times before, he had a bone to pick with the entire house. Zevran had made an ally of another's enemy and instead of picking the members of the organization off with no return, he was finally getting paid for it.

And what pay it was. Protection when off the job and free room and board within Niccolo's personal suite. That wasn't including the coin he made. Zevran was gradually becoming certain that his little noble human could respect the sizable fortune he'd been making for himself.

A door creaked off a wayward breeze, and Zevran narrowed his eyes at the Crow who had suddenly turned into another sack of coins. The man was getting close to his target, a target Zevran had been hired to protect, and while Niccolo was in no way an honest man, he wasn't the merchant prince involved in the slave trade. The Crow's contractor was.

Slipping through the doorway where the Crow had disappeared, Zevran walked straight into a gambler's den. It wasn't an uncommon place for Niccolo's man to be at, and it didn't even take a skilled eye to see the overlarge and arrogant bastard with an elven whore on one knee.

The sight was so common to him that Zevran skipped right past the variety of whores and gamblers in the room to find his target. The Crow weaved through the den with a trademark grace all of their assassins had been trained to move with. It was shadowy, a slinking motion that was slow enough to take in the entire room's contents but quick enough to dodge a drunken arm when it rose up in gambling victory.

Zevran knew what the Crow was doing, and instead of moving in on his kill, he tossed a few coins down when a woman called to place bets on a game. The Crow was absorbing the situation, figuring out the best angle with which to take out his target, and Zevran was doing the same.

There were a variety of ways the man could kill the merchant. Even in the midday, the male was already inebriated, hands fumbling about on his companion's lacy garter. Zevran didn't know what he was more impressed by, the merchant's ability to let himself go in the middle of the day or the whore's ability to fake attraction with a sweat dripping pig.

She was skilled at her trade to an extent almost matching the Crow as he approached the handsy merchant. Though the merchant was too far gone, practically swimming in grapes at this point, to realize he was conversing with one of Death's servants, the glint in the woman's eyes held recognition.

There were several scenarios for such a glint in her gaze. Her brothel may have sold the boy when he was young. Given the apparent age difference, the woman could have been the Crow's very mother. It made little difference. Occupations often clashed, and with the way the thick fingers of the merchant were strolling carelessly over the woman's body, the Crow was likely doing her a favor.

Zevran glanced to where his bet appeared to be paying off at the moment, and he went through the various ways he could get rid of this target and get back to the inn. Assassinations weren't always cloak and dagger events. They could often be quite the public spectacle. A drunken brawl with one ale soaked victim and a mostly sober assassin. A brushing of shoulders on the streets that turned into a slip of a dagger between the hit's ribs. Even a public argument on a rooftop balcony, a simple push that resulted in a crushed in skull.

Assassins didn't always sneak into their victim's bedrooms or poison their glasses of wine, but Zevran had to admit, he might have been the reason the former had become so popular in recent erotic novels. His conquests had become so legendary that the Antivan border patrol had been told to watch for him specifically.

Leaning against a wooden post that held up a roof with more holes than patches, Zevran looked at the sunlight streaming down. It was midday, and he had plenty of time to take out this Crow. Though Niccolo had suggested Zevran make sure his merchant stayed alive, he had also noted that the man was a crooked bastard who was just as beneficial to Niccolo alive as he was dead.

Zevran had the opportunity to either let the Crow take out the human scum and do the world a favor, or he had the opportunity to speed things up and get back to his rooms. There was a bonus if the merchant lived, but Zevran had been doing so well for himself in recent months at Niccolo's side that a few hundred more coins could be passed up.

He felt a grin creep up one side of his face when his bet in the den won him more gold. Zevran may be somewhat of a greedy bastard, but at this rate, he could afford some stalling. Then again, he might have been feeling some tiny amount of nervousness at being in front of Adamine again.

There was only one reason he could think of for her being in Antiva, and the very idea that someone cared for him enough to risk her life in order to merely stand at his side was bewildering for an assassin trained in the arts of narcissism and greed.

If Adamine had come to Antiva for the reasons Zevran believed she had come for, then she might be hunting down his trail, but if she hadn't come for him, she could have been enjoying the beauty and deception that was Antiva.

The idea that Adamine might be here for a reason other than him did strike an odd chord. They hadn't seen each other in years, and while monogamy hadn't initially been in his vocabulary, it had been since he'd left her. There were only so many fantasies one could come up with before his hand became a poor bedmate. He'd been the perfect partner, only messing up once when in Kirkwall where a meeting with the Champion and Isabela had caught him on an off day.

Even during that interlude, Zevran had paused to muse on how much better the sex would have been if his Mina was the one pressing against his hips.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he continued to watch his target carefully maneuver more coin from the merchant. He doubted that Adamine knew anything about what had happened in Kirkwall, but some part of him was worried if she had found out. It wasn't in her nature to make note of his sexual past, as a matter of fact she seemed to enjoy learning of his conquests, determined to make sure she was the last one he remembered. Yet his mind was journeying to something other than acceptance in regards to his actions.

Also, why was the Dalish with her? Adamine had little interest in bodyguards, would have traveled on her own had Alistair not sent a request from Denerim. Perhaps, Adamine had come here on the request of the elven woman, some do-gooder job like she tended to take partake in.

If that was the case, would she even seek him out at all? Had she moved on in the years since their departure?

Zevran mentally shook his head. This was ridiculous. His Grey Warden had turned him into a mindless romantic, and while he'd already been a master of seduction, this sentimental side of himself was uncharted territory. A terrifying place to dwell for a man who'd grown up in deception and manslaughter.

Frustrated with himself, Zevran was tempted to join the game of Wicked Grace out of mere personal spite until a chair went flying behind suddenly straightened knees. "You filthy cheat!" was howled through the air before being accompanied by an elven woman getting dumped on her ass against the floorboards.

The merchant had stood up, was presently making himself an open target as he leaned towards the Crow to stab his finger against the other man's chest. While everyone around grunted and hissed at the abrupt uproar, Zevran only found himself sighing. It looked like he'd be saving Niccolo's merchant this afternoon. Well, at least he'd be rewarded for it.

Stepping forward, he just hoped he wouldn't get blood all over himself again.

More wooden legs scraped across the beaten up floorboards of the gambling den, and Zevran saw a hand move to a dagger. He had suspected the Crow as being young when he'd spotted him on the streets, and the tactic he was using to make his kill was verifying the assumption. Public assassination made to look like a common brawl.

The Crow was young enough to look like a ruffian cheat who'd been hoping to feed his family in the alienage. If he was as good an actor as he had been a cheater, he could dip in and out of here without the guards joining in. Besides, the merchant had chose a poor place to get drunk in. No one really cared if someone was murdered in an alienage, so his death could go unreported for days.

As soon as metal glinted against the sunlight coming through one of the overhead holes in the roof, Zevran withdrew his own blade and parried what should have been a killing blow to the chest. Curses were shouted. The merchant stepped too far back and fell to the floor, a heap of gasping male.

Shock appeared to be the emotion of the moment as Zevran's bored expression met the wide eyes of the Crow. Recognition had flared. "You're the tr—" Zevran silenced the other assassin with a fluid movement of his blade across an exposed throat. Blood sprayed, but Zevran stepped back just in time to avoid it.

The assassin's words were still hanging in the air, and Zevran finished his sentence for him. "Tragic hero of the evening? I couldn't agree more." His only response was the young Crow's body hitting the floor with a gurgling thud.

It was a shame, really. The boy couldn't have been more than his early teens, and he'd been full of potential. All the right skills being flaunted before a single opening gave Zevran the split second he needed to take the assassin's life. It was a fate that couldn't have been avoided. If Zevran had chosen to save the merchant and let the boy live on, he might as well have slit the boy's throat anyway.

The House of Crows never kept assassins who couldn't hit their mark. They had a reputation to maintain, of course.

Sheathing his blade, Zevran couldn't hold back a scowl at a few blood splatters that had gotten on his vest. He'd thought he'd stepped far enough back to avoid staining. Apparently not.

He was in the middle of wiping the blood off with a cloth from the table when a meaty hand laid on his shoulder. The grimace that came to his face was involuntary, but he masked it right as the merchant appeared in the corner of his eyes. "You-you saved me."

"A missive from your boss," Zevran replied, tossing the bloodied cloth on the table and stepping out from beneath the sweaty palm of the other man. He knew he was being talked at as he left, but he didn't really hear it. Instead, his mind had set itself on the woman who could very well be in his room right now.

When it came between the gracious words of a client's compatriot or the surprised breaths of a redhaired warrioress, Zevran would pick the woman every time. After glancing towards the setting sun, he just wondered what scenario was more seductive: an assassin slipping in through your bedroom window in the late evening or a lover showing up with wine in hand and the promise of an unforgettable night.


	4. Three

Three

 _Meanwhile…_

Evening had come sooner rather than later as two women made their way down an Antivan side street. The sunlight, barely filtered by the three and four story buildings around them, made bodies sweat beneath leather armor. If Adamine could have pulled the metal ring around her collar down lower, she knew that she would have.

"I thought the rain would have cooled things off," Katja commented. Her metal toed boots clacked against the stairway that led deeper into the alienage. Somewhere around here was the building the elven scout had seen on the map, and if his memory was worth anything, they would be coming upon it soon.

Adamine stepped over a single flower that had broken through the stone path leading into an area surrounded by poorly constructed shelters and stained laundry. "Not in Antiva apparently. I think the humidity is doing something for your hair though." Her lips turned up on a snicker when she roamed a gaze over Katja's brown locks.

Lengths usually smooth and perfectly straight had been kinked up by the moisture in the air. Sweat curled the hair that framed her tan, heart shaped face, and the long queued up section that fell down her back was frizzing out around the leather strip holding it. Kat looked more like a wet kitten.

"If Orlesians saved their little brothers from slavers, I'm sure they'd find a way to make a hairstyle that suited the situation. Since I'm Ferelden, I say screw it." Katja bobbed around a drunken elf that was swaying backwards down the road. "I hate alienages," she hissed, narrowed eyes following the elf teetering with bottle pressed to mouth.

Adamine gave a grimace and observed the area around them. Yeah, she didn't approve of the living conditions either. She'd been on Fergus's case ever since he became Teyrn of Highever to have some construction done in their alienage. After making so many friends among the elven communities, she more than understood why they would have a reason to hate shems, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable as elven eyes drilled holes into her and Katja.

They didn't exactly fit in around here, Katja with her Dalish markings and Adamine with her human-ness. Luckily, the worst the locals had done so far was scowl in their general direction and comment about the damned shem walking around with her Dalish pet.

It was a tough crowd.

Looking at her map, Katja made a mental note of the giant tree where one elf was casually taking a piss. "Left by the tree," she directed, scowl in place on her skin. "Why does poverty always cause people to lose their dignity?" Her words were mainly a low grumble of annoyance before she took Adamine by the arm to lead her towards an alley.

Shadows of the tree laid down over Adamine's face, causing the black slave marking on her skin to appear just a bit darker. Her words were forlorn when she explained, "When everything you could have is always close enough to see but just outside of your reach, you start to realize that you're merely another dog waiting for the master's scraps." Adamine knew that teaching well, scarfing down bits of leftover food to keep her strength up for just one more day. One more day before she could break away from the Maleficarum and be a person again.

This trip to the alienage was bringing the past back to life for her, and as much as she wanted to get Sven back to his sister, she was terrified that when face to face with a Tevinter mage she wouldn't be able to put up her best fight. Oh, she would fight. She just wouldn't do it with the kind of strategy that allowed her to win. Mages always had a way of turning her back into that savage child.

She'd barely made it out of the Ferelden Circle Tower alive. Blood mages at every turn. Nightmarish abominations and demons sucked out of the fade. A twenty-one year old Grey Warden had been reduced to a twelve year old girl at the mere sight of slit wrists and disfigured humanoids.

Katja let out a curse when she caught sight of Adamine's haunted expression. A hand reached out to hold the wrist of one that had turned to a fist, and Katja rubbed soothing circles on the base of Adamine's palm. "I'm sorry, Mina. If you don't want to come with me, I can take you back to the inn."

Unable to pull back on the bark of laughter Katja's words had brought to her lips, Adamine replied, "Take me back! Like I'm some kid again? Hell, no. I'm just dumb enough to _want_ to find these slavers. I'm not going to sit around at the inn while you hunt down the bastards on your own. Face it, Katja. You need me. Traumatized twelve year old or no."

"What's that thing the Keeper always told me?" Katja mused to herself, easing the pressure of her grip on Adamine's hand. "Oh, yeah. Brave men are the ones just dumb enough to chase down the thing that scares them most."

"Then I must be the biggest idiot in the world." Adamine offered Katja a grin of reassurance. It was apparently enough for Kat to think Adamine no longer needed a hand to hold.

"You said it, not me." Katja took a turn down another alley, carefully analyzing a homeless elf peering at them with glowing eyes in the shadows of the alienage walls. They hadn't gone a single place here without being watched. Katja and Adamine were both sure that if they made one step in the wrong direction they would get pounced on faster than a dragonling after a wounded bronto.

And they weren't just being stalked by those who dwelled in this ghetto. Shadows moved in the alienage. Shadows in the forms of people. If the Crows hadn't known Adamine had gotten off the ship at the docks, they certainly knew she was in the alienage now.

Looking forward, Adamine caught sight of metal and brick. Not too far up ahead loomed the building Katja's clanmate had marked on her map. It was a building that looked like it'd seen the wrong end of a trebuchet. One of the large trees in the alienage had shed a massive branch. Bits of it projected out from a destroyed section of roof, green leaves glistening in the afternoon sun.

Instead of making their way to the giant hole they could have walked through, Adamine opened up the warehouse door. "Classy ladies first," she chimed, gesturing to the door only attached to the building by one and a half rusted hinges.

"You just want me to be the one to yell out, 'Alert! Blood mages ahead!'" Katja teased. Her boot stepped over a wooden plank riddled with nails, and she surveyed the damage that was the interior of the building.

Chains had been suspended to hold wooden pallets. Some still held crates and busted vases. Others had been knocked to the ground by the fallen tree branch. On the moldy and rotten floor sat looted chests and remnants of tattered cloth.

"If there was anything of value in here before, it's long gone now," Adamine noted. She used the toe of her boot to flip over a plank. Bugs scattered as their dwelling was tossed away.

Instead of being deterred by the emptiness that was the old storage warehouse, Katja kept up her search. She kicked at chests to test whether anything had been left inside or not. She checked the shadowed rafters to see if anything, or anyone, was looming above them.

"Do you think they might have already left for Tevinter?" Her words were emotionless, an attempt to hide her disappointment.

Instead of giving up hope, Adamine kicked at straw beds the homeless must have made from materials stolen from the stables not too far from the alienage. She'd been in enough abandoned warehouses and windmills to know that hidden entrances were the norm. She just needed to find something, maybe a hollow board or the glint of a metal handle on the floor.

"I doubt it. The elves were whispering about foreigners in the alienage before they caught sight of us, and even if they did go to Tevinter, we'll chase them down," Adamine assured. Something glittered against a rotted plank, and her lips turned up. Uh-huh. Just as she'd expected.

Katja's hands paused against another nail pierced wall, and she asked, "You'd go to Tevinter just to find my little brother for me?"

"You've been by my side for fifteen years, Kat. I'm pretty sure I owe you for something by now." Adamine's hand reached down between the molded boards, and just when she felt something warm and metallic against her fingertips, the churning of mechanisms filled the air.

A rushed wind was released at the same time Katja barked, "What did you do?"

"Something wrong!" Adamine's words were a drawn out yip as a rope wrapped around her ankle. She was drug across the wooden planks at the same time that one of the weighted down pallets sailed towards the moldy floor. A hand stretched back in an attempt to grab her sword. Fingers caressed the hilt.

Reaching. Reaching. Grab— The blade slipped from her fingers, clattering against the ground like disappointment made into physical form. When she was suspended by one ankle in the air, Adamine let out groan. "See! This is what happens when you don't bring Alistair," she snapped. "I get to be the idiot who sets off all the traps."

"And the one time I don't bring my bow." Katja turned around in the room, looking for the rope that had Adamine upside down in the rafters. She'd barely taken a step forward when a shadow shifted behind her. Unwilling to make Adamine's mistake, Katja spun on her heel, withdrawing twin daggers in the process.

Metal clanged against metal, and Adamine cursed from above. Just out of the corner of her eye, Katja could see an arrow trained on the Grey Warden, several arrows at that. Archers were suddenly perched in the rafters like vultures trained on a carcass. Some had their sights on Adamine. Others had them on Katja.

"I hate killing when I don't get paid for it," the assassin lurking before Katja commented. As if his words were some kind of signal, arrows rained.

With a hiss, Katja hastily slammed the flat ends of her daggers together. A twisting motion had the blades locking in order to form what appeared to be a short staff, and with a sweeping motion, Katja used a fire technique to throw a magical barrier around Adamine. The arrows flying her way disintegrated in a swath of flame while a blast of spiritual energy had Katja's arrows ricocheting to the rotten floor.

It gave Adamine just enough time to cut her leg free with the dagger she kept strapped on her thigh. Katja's barrier may have burned away the arrows, but it didn't save her lady from slamming herself into the floor. Adamine's next breath came out on a hiss while she scrambled to collect her blade.

Hastily, she rushed to Katja's side. The elf's barrier of fire surrounded them both like a whirlwind from hell. "Assassins hired to protect the slaves?" Adamine asked. She swung her blade to parry an archer who'd gone from bow to short swords.

Katja released her daggers, breaking the cut stone that guided her magical energy to its target and rendering her magic far less stable. The release of the blades came with the release of her barrier, but it wasn't without benefit. Without the flames in her line of sight, Katja was able to dip beneath the slash of a dagger then lunge forward. The wet slide of metal into flesh slithered through the air.

If the assassins were surprised that Katja was more than the average rogue, they never let it show. Arrows continued to rain down, and Katja used her barely alive victim as a meat shield before tossing him off the top of her.

"Doubtful," Katja replied to Adamine's question. She flipped one of her daggers backwards to sink her blade into an assassin trying to stab her in the back. "They aren't mercenaries. This is a hunt for you."

A curse fell from Katja's lips when an arrow pierced her arm. Right when another was sailing for the space between her eyes, a shield came down like a metallic angel. "Smokescreen!" Adamine commanded.

The click of a bomb off her belt was soon followed by a black haze rolling in around their feet. Bodies were obscured in the darkness. Arrows shot blindly into the ebony cloud, hitting nothing but Adamine's shield while Katja guided her lady through the blackness. When the two of them reached a stack of chests and boxes, Katja explained, "Four of them. One centerfold, one left, and the other two on my right."

Around them the smokescreen was beginning to fade. Already the spot they'd been standing in was clear of the hazy fog, and only a few remnants were thick enough to give Katja the element of surprise she wanted.

"I'll get tweedle dee and tweedle dum then. You do your rogue thing," Adamine agreed. Her legs were already moving her to a straightened position, and when she peered around boxes, she could only see the darkness from Katja's screen. They were still properly shielded from assassin's sights. Only the pittering of rushing feet told that anyone was still seeking them out. When Adamine turned to the spot where Katja had been, the Dalish was gone. Their plan had been set into motion.

A rough shove had crates crashing to provide a distraction, and Adamine called out, "You bitches lookin' for me? 'Cause here I am!" Air shifted in the space beside her skull. Making haste in the distance that separated them, an assassin moved her dagger forward. With trained reflexes Adamine's arm moved up. The enemy's blade slipped just into her shoulder before the assassin ate a metal shield.

A feminine figure hit the ground in a thud, and when fumbling legs couldn't bring her back up on two feet, a sword through the gullet pinned her against rotten wood.

Overhead, Katja was at work. A thrown dagger breezed through the space between rafters to knock one Crow from his perch, and the other released an arrow at point blank. Quick thinking had Katja's body moving on instinct. When the arrow's head shot forward, it was towards the roof.

Pinning the assassin against the rafter, Katja made quick work with her blade. One slit throat later, and she was back on her feet to meet the last of the assassins. Retreat wasn't even a thought in his mind. He stood pinned between a Dalish and a Grey Warden. When Katja picked up the bow from her kill's corpse, she fired an arrow straight between the Crow's parted lips.

His body rolled with a ragdoll's grace, and no others appeared for backup.

"So what's the bodycount since we left Denerim?" Adamine wondered, sheathing sword and shield against her back. She crouched down and looked at the Crow Katja had stolen from her. They were supposed to have divided their kills, but no, Katja had to go all Dalish assassin all over the place and take out five of six. Thieving traitor.

Then again, there was also the fact that only two of them had even gotten down from the roof, and while Adamine was good at throwing things, she loved her blade too much to chuck it at random strangers.

Climbing down from the rafters, Katja landed without a sound beside her lady. "Well, I took four during the ship raid, and you had five. So I'm winning by three."

Adamine grumbled, "Because you always steal my kills."

Shrugging, Katja replied, "Get faster."

"Listen. Some of us have to carry around a big hunk of metal _and_ a sword, not prance around the battlefield in a cloud of pixie dust."

"I tried to tell you that when we were younger, but you were all, 'No, I wanna be like my big brother Fergus. He's so cool and strong. I want to be cool and strong.'"

Adamine leaned away from Katja. "My, my, Kitten. I knew you had a crush on my brother, but I didn't realize you thought he was so cool and strong."

Katja flipped her twin birds as she walked away. "Suck my lady balls." If Adamine didn't know better, she'd reason that Katja's hasty escape from the conversation was to hide a pinkening of her skin.

 _And the romantic plot thickens,_ Adamine thought to herself. With a grin, the warrior strolled to Katja's side. The elf's hazel eyes were studying the warehouse. Slightly curved lips slowly fell to a flatlined state, and regret soon washed across her expression. All former lightness was gone, replaced by concern and fear.

No one had come to defend any of the slaves that might have been stored here, and no one could be heard calling out for help. All was silent aside from the chirping of birds.

Adamine knew exactly what Katja was thinking. They'd come all the way out to the alienage on their only lead. Without any apparent slaves or any trap doors to discover, all they'd done was take out more Crows that had been sent for Adamine's life, Crows that seemed to know what the women were looking for. Their safest bet for finding the Lavellan clan's hunters was gone. Now, they'd have to waste precious time hunting for anyone who would talk to foreigners that asked too many questions.

Adamine let her lashes cast spiky shadows over her eyes. If only they could find Zevran. He knew Antiva. He could help them locate rumors, point them towards people who would talk to them, but Adamine's trail on him was just as cold as Katja's trail for Sven. They'd traveled to Antiva only to hit a roadblock on their first day. It wasn't a promising start.

Reaching out, Adamine squeezed Katja's shoulder. "Look on the bright side, it's only our first day here, and the ship didn't have that big of a lead on us. Just a day. We can go back to the inn, wash off this blood, and start again in the morning."

Katja's slightly slanted eyes looked up at Adamine. That look of fear was one Adamine had seen far too often since becoming a Grey Warden, and hey, wasn't it a Grey Warden's job to protect the people? They would get Katja's brother back. They just needed to do it before he got sold off in Tevinter.

If that happened, the trail could end even bloodier than it already was.


End file.
